


Worship

by nightrose



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Dom/sub, M/M, Rimming, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-12
Updated: 2014-02-12
Packaged: 2018-01-12 02:45:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1180992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightrose/pseuds/nightrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire rims Enjolras. For a kinkmeme prompt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worship

Grantaire doesn’t have many limits. This was on the soft list, of things he’s not into but could be willing to try, but Enjolras is still reluctant to suggest it. The last time they pushed a limit was one of Enjolras’- he’d been hesitant to try verbal humiliation with Grantaire, given, well, everything- and that had worked out wonderfully for both of them. 

So Enjolras asks. 

“Grantaire, how would you feel about rimming?”

Grantaire looks up from his book. “Uh, me or you?”

“You rimming me. To be specific.”

“Can I ask why? You don’t usually push things.”

Enjolras, immediately filled with concern, sits next to him on the couch, placing a warm hand on his knee. “I’m not pushing, sweetheart. Just asking. There’s no pressure if you don’t want to. Please believe that.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean pushing like pressuring. You’re not making me uncomfortable. Just—why?”

“Uh, because Courf was talking about it, and he says it feels really good, and you’ve managed to turn me from a chaste priest of the revolution to an utter hedonist in a remarkably short amount of time. For twenty years I hardly used my body at all, and now I’m quite eager to explore the limits of what it can do. What it can feel. To put it simply, I’m curious.”

“Okay,” Grantaire says tentatively.

“You don’t want to do this. I’m sorry for bringing it up, and I’ll never do so again.” Enjolras laces his fingers through Grantaire’s, drawing the other man’s calloused hand up to his lips for a kiss. “Truly, love, it was just passing curiousity. That is not worth causing any harm or distress to you.”

“No, it’s—I’m not distressed. I promise. I’m just… I don’t know. I think it’s sort of… degrading? But you know, that doesn’t always have to be a bad thing.” Grantaire bites his lip, thinking it over. “We could try it, I guess. See how it goes?”

“Only if you want to.”

“Yeah. I mean, if we… set things up in… like, I would do it if it was something you ordered me to do. In a scene. And said the kind of things that can make degradation—good.”

“Are you certain? If it’s already something that you aren’t sure about, I don’t want to get into a situation where you feel like you can’t say no to me due to the power dynamics in a scene—“

“I’m sure.” Grantaire smiles. “It’s easier then, anyway. If I change my mind, I’ll just safeword.”

“Promise me you’ll do that,” Enjolras says, firmly.

“Yes, sir,” Grantaire replies, grinning, and Enjolras leans over and kisses him, hard. 

Grantaire has barely made it through the door when Enjolras smiles at him, pins him against the doorway, and hisses “Strip” into his ear.

He pulls away enough to let Grantaire follow his order, smirking at the blush that covers Grantaire’s face. Grantaire’s hands, usually so clever, fumble with the buttons on his shirt. He leaves his clothes piled on the floor, looking nervously up at his dom. Sometimes Enjolras demands more neatness than that, but not today. 

Today he just looks at Grantaire, taking in the blush that spreads from his cheeks down his neck and to his chest. Grantaire’s hands are at his sides now, fluttering like he wants to try and cover himself up but knows he shouldn’t. He’s standing up straight, obviously trying to hide the curve of his belly. Enjolras steps in close, cupping Grantaire’s cheek, and kisses him sweetly on the lips. “You are,” he says firmly, “the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.”

Grantaire doesn’t answer—can’t answer—just looks down at the ground, not meeting Enjolras’ eyes.

It’s what Enjolras is expecting, for all that he hoped something different might happen. Every time, he hopes that Grantaire’s insecurities will be a bit easier on him, this time. But he knows he has to be patient. One day, Grantaire will see just how wonderful and amazing he is. He trusts Enjolras with everything else, and one day he’ll have to trust him enough to believe that. So he doesn’t argue with Grantaire’s shamed silence, just kisses him again and says, “I’m so lucky that you’re mine, sweet boy. Come over by the couch, I want you on your knees.”

Grantaire follows him there, and as he goes to kneel, Enjolras grabs his shoulder, roughly pushing him down. The unexpected manhandling makes Grantaire let out a pleased little whimper and lean towards Enjolras.

Enjolras grabs his hair, using it to pull his head backwards. “What’s your safeword?”

“Red, sir.”

“You will use it if you want me to stop. That’s an order.”

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s a good boy. Now, tell me what you want, whore.”

Grantaire licks his lips and leans purposefully towards Enjolras.

Enjolras slaps him across the face. “Use your words. I’d gag you if I wanted you quiet.”

“Please, sir. Let me suck your cock,” he says, his voice quiet but sure.

“Do you think you deserve that?” Enjolras says, and fuck, fuck, Grantaire hates this question. 

Whenever Enjolras asks him that, he feels this tendril of awful uncertainty in his stomach. The sense of being off-balance is overwhelming. He knows Enjolras wants him to say yes, and he wants to do the right thing and please his dominant, but he also can’t bring himself to say something that sounds so self-congratulatory. He hates the question, yes, but it also sends him toppling into subspace faster than anything else. It makes him desperate for guidance, for a sign for the right thing to do, and he feels himself leaning in towards Enjolras even before the words are out of his mouth. “Please, please sir, I don’t… whatever you want, I just want to be good—“

“Hmm. Not good enough,” Enjolras says.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what to say—“

“Maybe you can put your mouth to better use, then,” Enjolras suggests.

“Yes, please-“ Grantaire begins, and then realizes what Enjolras means. There’s a moment of quiet.

“Tell me what you need,” Enjolras says, and it’s so obviously coming from outside the scene persona, so clearly Enjolras’ loving and kind and firm self.

“Make me,” Grantaire asks.

Enjolras smiles, letting his fingers play across Grantaire’s face, sliding along his full lower lip. “I’m going to take my clothes off and lie down on this couch, and you’re going to put your tongue in my ass and make me come.”

Grantaire looks up at him, and his eyes are shining and sure. He smiles and then bows his head.  
Enjolras strips off efficiently, enjoying the way Grantaire’s eyes rake over his body. He stretches out on the couch, face down, head pillowed on the arm of the couch so he can look to the side, keeping his eyes on his kneeling submissive.

“Well?” he says after a moment.

“May I touch you, sir?”

“However you’d like,” Enjolras says generously. 

“I—please, sir, will you tell me how?”

“Of course.” The uncertainty in Grantaire’s voice puts Enjolras on edge. He doesn’t want his boy feeling that kind of anxiety. “You can put your hands on my ass. I want you to touch me. And I want you to stay on your knees.”

Grantaire’s touch is at first so tentative that Enjolras can barely feel it, but then his hands settle on the curve of Enjolras’ ass. “May I kiss your back, sir? Please?”

“Yes. That’s a good idea. Start at my neck, and kiss your way down my body.”

“Yes, sir.”

Grantaire’s wet mouth makes contact with the nape of Enjolras’ neck. He presses open-mouthed but reverant kisses all the way down his master’s back. Grantaire loves Enjolras, worships Enjolras, and so rarely gets to decide how to physically express that. Free reign to touch makes him nervous, but it’s also a rare delight, and he knows Enjolras will stop him if he wants to. 

Enjolras is relaxed, lying relatively still on the couch, as Grantaire kneels for him, and that’s good. He seems happy, and Grantaire wants to make him happy. Grantaire squeezes Enjolras’ ass slightly, his thumbs rubbing circles at the top, as his mouth reaches the dimples at Enjolras’ lower back.

He drops gentle kisses there, and his hands start to gently part Enjolras’ cheeks. He’s tentative, not sure if it’s allowed.

“Go ahead,” Enjolras tells him. He does, spreading him carefully. Grantaire trails kisses down, from Enjolras’ lower back and lower. He hesitates at the very cleft of Enjolras’ ass, but not for long. “You’re doing so well,” Enjolras encourages. “I’m very pleased with you.”

Grantaire lifts his head enough to say “Thank you, Master,” and then his mouth is back on Enjolras’ skin. He hesitates again as he reaches Enjolras’ hole. All he can think is that he shouldn’t be doing this. It’s dirty, and forbidden, especially because this is Enjolras. He’s never been allowed to touch Enjolras like this before, in such an intimate and private way, and he wants to prove he’s worthy of the trust his master is placing in him. He wants to please Enjolras, but he’s not sure about the actual act.

“Whore,” Enjolras says, sharply. “Do as you’re told.”

“I’m sorry,” Grantaire says, still hesitating, but dropped into that anxious, desperate subspace of wanting to make up for his mistakes by the tone of Enjolras’ voice. He wants to worship Enjolras, wants to please. 

“That’s all right. Just go ahead, now. Put your mouth on me—“ And Grantaire does, because Enjolras is using his most commanding voice, the one that runs right through Grantaire’s mind and basically shuts off his ability to think, to do anything but what Enjolras orders.

He lowers his mouth to Enjolras’ hole and places a wet, open-mouthed kiss to the puckered skin. 

At the first touch of Grantaire’s mouth, Enjolras lets out a long, low, filthy groan. Grantaire has never heard a sound like that come from his master’s lips before.

“Lick,” Enjolras says, and Grantaire can feel the struggle for control in his voice. “Just the outside. I want your tongue there—yes, good boy.”

Grantaire does as he’s told. It’s easy, with clear, simple instructions like that, with Enjolras’ voice praising him as he does what Enjolras wants, as he pleases his master with his mouth.

Because this is just another way to please Enjolras, another way for his owner to use him, and yes, that’s good. That’s the way to think about this.

There isn’t much of a taste, just sweat and skin. It’s a little muskier than the rest of Enjolras’ taste, but it isn’t gross, really. If Grantaire doesn’t let himself think about the fact that he has his mouth on Enjolras’ ass, it isn’t gross at all.

And it’s easy to be distracted, because Enjolras is whimpering as Grantaire tentatively licks at him. Enjolras is letting out little sighing moans, like nothing Grantaire has ever heard from him before, and that’s so good. It’s degrading and a little disgusting, kneeling with his mouth on Enjolras’ hole, but Enjolras is enjoying it and that’s perfect.

“That’s amazing,” Enjolras tells him, and Grantaire sighs at the praise, focusing on making sure he’s licked every centimeter of skin. “I want you to put your tongue inside me, now.”

Grantaire does. It’s a little tricky to actually get his tongue in there. Enjolras is so tight, and he isn’t exactly lying still so Grantaire can get the perfect angle. He’s whimpering and pressing back against Grantaire’s mouth and trembling with want, which is amazing but also makes doing as he’s been ordered a little bit difficult. 

When Grantaire finally manages, though, Enjolras lets out a filthy groan and a stream of dirty words. “Fuck, yes, that’s it, that’s my perfect little whore.”

Grantaire feels himself blush, wonders if Enjolras can feel the heat coming off his face, buried as it is so intimately against Enjolras’ body. 

The feeling of having his tongue inside Enjolras is—strange. It’s wonderfully intimate and at the same time he can’t shake the feeling that he’s doing something horrifically, deeply wrong. The idea of safewording isn’t really on his mind. He’s dropped deep into subspace, getting off just on the knowledge that he’s pleasing Enjolras. But that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t feel embarassed, just that the embarassment is transformed somehow, from shame to a kind of warped pleasure that he’s allowed to serve like this, that he’s willing to let himself become this for Enjolras.

The mixture of praise and degradation always gets to him. “You’re filthy,” Enjolras is saying, his voice warm and full of want and his words biting and cruel. “You dirty little bitch, you’d do anything. You’re even enjoying this, aren’t you?”

And Grantaire is. He’s enjoying the pain of his knees pressing into the floor, the discomfort of trying to breathe with his face pressed into Enjolras’ ass, the hot coil of shame in his stomach as he does this thing he’s always thought of as disgusting, as dirty. Grantaire can’t answer, pulling back a little bit to lap at Enjolras’ hole as his master keeps talking.

“You’re just my fucktoy, my sweet, obedient slut. You’re a thing for me to use, hands and a mouth and a hole for me to fuck. You belong to me and you’re so good like this.”

Grantaire pulls back even farther, so he can speak. “Is… is this okay, sir?” He feels that same uncertainty. He knows it’s because of the act itself, the feeling he still has that this is forbidden and that he shouldn’t do it, but he also knows that Enjolras’ control will make him feel better.

“It’s perfect. Use your tongue just like that—curl it inside me—“ and as Grantaire obeys, Enjolras lets out an incoherent shout of pleasure, his body tensing. He pants for a second before ordering, “Again, again, keep going—“ 

And Grantaire does, until Enjolras is breathing heavily in little huffs of pleasure and want. 

 

Grantaire eats Enjolras out for what feels like hours. His tongue starts to ache and his jaw is throbbing by the time Enjolras gets back up on his hands and knees and orders, “Touch me, touch me, I want to come.”

It’s a command, clearly, but it’s also a plea. Enjolras’ voice is high-pitched and desperate and Grantaire loves that, loves that he’s doing that for Enjolras, that he’s making his Dom feel this good. He’s making Enjolras feel out of control, and usually he’s the only one who gets to have that, it’s only Grantaire who gets this out of his head with pleasure when they fuck, and giving that to Enjolras, being the one that marble Enjolras trusts to see him like this—that’s worth everything, worth all the degradation in the world, worth his sore knees and aching jaw and clumsy fumbling as he works a hand around to stroke Enjolras off slowly and easily. 

Enjolras babbles the whole time—he’s always a talker during sex, but this is so much less composed than the calm stream of words he usually directs at Grantaire. “Yes, like that, your tongue, your mouth, so good, fucking perfect, touch me, I need it, don’t stop, mine, my whore, my good boy, I love you, I need this, fuck—“

Grantaire smiles and then goes back to work, curling his tongue inside Enjolras and rubbing his thumb across that sensitive spot at the head of Enjolras’ cock, and Enjolras shouts and pushes back into Grantaire’s face (and there’s some perfect degradation there, Enjolras shoving his ass into Grantaire’s face, commanding and in control and just using him, his face, his identity hidden, unable to talk, just a mouth and hands to make Enjolras come, and that’s so good). Enjolras grinds back, almost mindlessly, against Grantaire as Grantaire continues focusing on the effort of getting Enjolras off, rubbing circles at the head of Enjolras’ cock and stroking the length, sucking and licking at his hole, and Enjolras comes, saying, “Yes, yes, fuck, mine, you’re mine—“ into a long, drawn out moan as the wetness of his come spills out onto Grantaire’s hand.

Grantaire feels Enjolras’ body tremble and shake as he comes, listens to his moan turn into a series of whimpers. He pulls his hand away, but keeps licking Enjolras’ hole with long, flat strokes of his tongue, totally lost in it now, thinking of nothing but the high, pleasured little noises his Dom is making.

Finally, when Enjolras’ tremors have turned into stillness, he says, “Enough, whore.”

Grantaire pulls away.

“Stay on your knees,” Enjolras says, his voice hoarse from the moaning but still so certainly in control. “Clean off your hand.”

Grantaire does so, licking Enjolras’ come from his fingers as Enjolras collapses onto his stomach, turning his head to the side to watch Grantaire degrade himself even more. 

“You’ve done so well. Should I let you come?”

“Yes, please, sir—“

Enjolras smiles. “Come here.” He sits up, spreading his legs, and lets Grantaire sit on his lap. He sucks kisses into Grantaire’s neck, taking hold of Grantaire’s cock with one hand as his other holds Grantaire securely around the waist.

Grantaire loves this position. Nothing feels more submissive than being held immobile on Enjolras’ lap and touched however Enjolras wants to touch him, and it’s clearly meant to be a reward. Enjolras is whispering praise into his ear, his hot breath as pleasurable as the gentle words.

“You’re my good boy, my sweet, needy little whore. I love you so much, you’re so beautiful and so good. I want you to come for me, come in my hand—“

And that’s all it takes, that whisper and Enjolras taking Grantaire’s earlobe between his teeth and tugging as he strokes at Grantaire’s cock.

Grantaire bends, his back arching, and cries out Enjolras’ name before going still in his arms. 

They collapse together on the couch, side by side, Grantaire’s head in Enjolras’ lap and Enjolras’ tilted back against the arm of the couch. Enjolras pets through Grantaire’s hair while they both try and catch their breath, quiet and contented in the warm afterglow. 

Enjolras is the first one to speak. “Are you all right, R?”

“I’m great,” Grantaire pants.

“What can I do for you?”

“Let me lie here. Pet me.”

“Okay,” Enjolras says readily. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Grantaire mumbles. “How are you?’

“Hmm? Good.”

“Just- y’know, I’m not the only one who had a big sexual experience today. How was your first experience with things up your ass?”

Enjolras laughs. “It was good.”

“I did good?”

“You did wonderfully. I’m so pleased with you. I’m so proud that you’re mine.”

Grantaire smiles, turning to hide his face in Enjolras’ stomach. “Thank you, sir,” he says, and then they’re quiet again, Enjolras gently, gently running his fingers through Grantaire’s hair as they soak up each other’s warmth.


End file.
